


Like Real People Do

by unyieldingBanshee



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Gang Rape (in one chapter maybe), Hurt/Comfort, I'm bad at tagging so lemme know if I miss something, M/M, NSFW, Slow Burn, Underfell, honeymustard - Freeform, underswap - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-06-02 05:02:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6552097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unyieldingBanshee/pseuds/unyieldingBanshee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a story about Sans the Skeleton. Well. <i>A</i> Sans the Skeleton. I’m sure you’re familiar with the punny brother in blue, but this is not that Sans.</p><p>No, this Sans grew up in… a <i>different</i> kind of Underground. Food ran scarce and the dark, stale air drove many monsters to the brink of insanity. In this Underground, it was eat or be eaten, kill or be killed. And, as a 1HP monster, this Sans was royally screwed. </p><p>That is, until he fell into another universe. </p><p> </p><p>So, you know, your typical HoneyMustard sin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hangover

**Author's Note:**

> So I didn't do so well keeping up with my last fic. I dunno, writing Frisk was weird for me.
> 
> But anyway! I have a lot more ideas for this one and will try to keep it going. It's gonna be slow at first cause Finals are coming up (kill me). 
> 
> I'm also uploading on the tumblr below. It's SUPER NSFW tho, fair warning.  
> http://uwa-soerotic.tumblr.com/

Asgore help him. It was going to be one of those days

It was mid-fucking-day and Papyrus had the hangover of the century. To top it off, images from last night’s ‘horrorterrors’ (as he liked to call them) were stubbornly sticking around in his consciousness.

He never slept well when Sans was away, and his older brother was off training (if by ‘training’ you meant ‘sleepover with occasional sparring and mild house burning’) with Captain Alphys. 

When the two of them got going, there was no telling when Pap would get his brother back. 

Having no one to police his behavior, Papyrus had gotten absolutely pissed at Muffet’s in a valiant effort to stave off nightmares. Shocker of shockers, it didn’t work. Instead, he miraculously made it home (though he suspected Muffet may have had a hand in that; He owed that girl a hell of a tip) and passed out on the couch around 3 am only to wake up in a cold sweat around 5 am.

He flipped on the television, volume turned to barely audible, and tried to focus on anything besides the haunting sensation of dust adhering to his face wet with tears.

It got easier as the numbness of inebriation turned into the agony of dehydration. Fuck, this is poison. This is what being poisoned feels like.

He had only just now been able to pry himself off the couch and was doing his best to remain upright long enough to cook something, ANYTHING, to absorb these toxins in his body. 

Hoo boy. Thank the stars he didn’t work today. Or tomorrow. And, oh look, the coffee’s done perking…

**Rumble**. A tremor shook the house. Ugh. You know what? Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s just some kids losing control of their magic. They have parents. They’ll be fine. He’s off duty, he doesn’t need to.. 

**CRASH**. A particularly violent jolt knocked him to his knees. UGH. Fuck. That definitely came from under the house. He would have been more alarmed if he weren’t so exhausted. Right now it was just annoying as all hell. **Thud**. **Thud**. **Clang**. His skull rattled with the continued, albeit somewhat quieter, noise. 

Alright, whatever that is _has_ to stop. 

But not before he poured a cup of coffee and downed that motherfucker. If he had to use any magic at all, he would need the boost. And he prayed to anything listening that it stayed down. He grabbed his keys and headed out in just his shorts and black tank. The bracing cold felt soothing to his feverish bones and helped to clear the fog in his mind.

As he made his way towards the back of the house, unease finally started to set in as it occurred to him that, while the commotion could have only come from the basement workshop, no one was supposed to know about what was down there. Let alone be able to get in. He had the only key. 

A quick glance at the door and he didn’t see any sign it had been forced. He slid the key in. It was even still locked.

Fucking stars, whatever it was, he didn’t want to deal with this nonsense right now. _Huff_. Oh well. Onwards.

He turned the knob and descended the stairs. 

Three steps down and the crackling of residual magic, a _lot_ of residual magic, was evident. Seven steps down, and he found the source. Panic gripped his soul. Face down on the floor next to the toppled machine that hadn’t worked in a decade was the small form of his brother. A crack traveling down his skull apparent. 

_How?!? How could this have even…_ He wasted no time running to his brother’s side. _Please. Oh fuck, oh please.._ Papyrus held his breath as he gingerly rolled the skeleton over, cradling his skull, but one look at his face and Papyrus nearly dropped him. Aside from the long crack that continued down and across the left eye socket, which Papyrus could now see was an old wound, this skeleton had teeth that had been ground to a point (a horror he would contemplate later).

Relief and dread mixed within Papyrus.

_This was not his Sans._

That realization barely struck before a burgundy pupil flared in not-Sans’ one good eye and Papyrus was forced back.


	2. The Machine

Red had not intended for any of this to happen. He had just been trying to pass the time, He didn’t expect the damn machine to actually work. And he  _definitely_  didn’t expect it to come to life, swallow him whole, and shit him out where ever the fuck this was.

Okay, so maybe it didn’t happen  _exactly_  like that. But it sure felt like it.

Boss’ duties had kept him away for nearly four days now. Red didn’t mind the empty house. It could be kind of nice not having to worry about screwing up all the time. But it could get pretty quiet without Boss around to bellow and break shit (shit being Red… and sometimes other household items). Quiet allowed him to think, and he didn’t like thinking too much or too often.

Drinking helped, but some days it was harder to deal with that smug, stupid bartender. Especially, after the nights he’d dreamed of the “incident”. He hated that dream. It left him feeling as helpless as the day it happened, and, ironically, it left him needing a drink.

So it was a relief when he discovered the workshop under the house. Something about it had felt familiar. Comfortable, even. He was grateful Boss allowed him to have this room to himself. Or he was grateful Boss didn’t know what was down there. Red tried hard not to think about what would happen if he found out.

Red had taken to toying around with the various parts he found down there, turned out he had an eye socket for mechanics. He’d combine different bits just to see how they worked together. Then he’d dismantle what he’d built and find new combinations later. Not much came of it, but it kept his hands and, more importantly, his mind busy. 

Eventually, he ran out of ideas for the limited amount of pieces he had. The Machine was the only thing left untouched. Unsure of its intended function, he had avoided it as long as possible. Where he was from, monsters didn’t build much that wasn’t a weapon. 

But, eh. What else was he going to do?

It was a simple, somewhat cylindrical design. Not much to look at on the outside with only one switch, presumably the power switch. There was no panel to see inside, and, unpowered, the locking mechanism would not disengage.

A kinda stupid way of doing things if you asked him, but, of course, nobody did.

The mechanics of the thing weren’t terribly out of shape. A little oil here and there, and everything should flow smoothly. But the electronics were a wreck. It took eight sessions of rewiring before anything so much as blinked at him. 

Not long after that, the whole damn thing whirred to life. There was a click and a hiss, and Red unceremoniously leapt away from it, screwdriver hanging from his teeth. After a moment, he determined it wasn’t immediately at risk of exploding, and he approached the door. That was where it went wrong.

The door fell shut as soon as he was inside, and that damn lock jammed. He tried simply teleporting out, but the effort made him light-headed as he tried to remember when he last ate. He must have stumbled a bit and hit something because, suddenly, the Machine was roaring. He tried to ram the door open, without much success. The sound was deafening. If he had ears or blood, they would certainly have been bleeding. He fell to the floor of the thing covering his skull. He squeezed his sockets shut and tried to suppress the rising panic in his chest long enough to think of a way out. 

He did not get very far with that before the sensation of his body melting came. The feeling of being dusted was something he was pretty familiar with. This was not it, this was him _melting_. He felt like a ball of clay in the hands of a particularly inept artist. That did it, any hope of coherent thought beyond was gone.  

He wasn’t sure when exactly he passed out but the next thing he knew…

_OH FUCK. Oh no. Oh shit._  He had used his magic against Boss. He hadn’t had much to expend, and he only managed to push the larger skeleton back a few feet but still. He was NEVER to use magic against Boss. When he came to, his magic responded almost without prompting.

Oh, he was dead now. Even if Boss didn’t  _mean_  to kill him.. Well, it’s not like it would take much. He was pretty sure he was already half dead from whatever the Machine did to him. And Boss was not known for self-control. This wouldn’t be the first time his brother had killed him, he doubted it would be the last. 

He stared hard at the ground in front of him, unable to bring himself to look the taller skeleton in the face. Sure, he’d be brought back kicking and screaming when the next Reset hit, but he didn’t want to see the look of cruel indifference his brother could give him. Red had that look memorized. 

Already dizzy and trembling from physical shock, the fear that surged through Red was too much for his body to handle. He vomited thick, dark ectoplasm and briefly wondered if his dust would be a help or hinderance in cleaning that up later. 

“oh sta-RGH” there was the sound of a sympathetic gag followed by coughing. “ugh.. uh, dude. not to be insensitive here but.. you wanna. i dunno. explain what you’re doing in my basement?”

As soon as the lazy drawl reached Red, his head snapped up. He struggled to process the sight of the lanky skeleton, who was now on all fours panting and trying to control his non-existent stomach as the fresh expulsion of ectoplasm assaulted his currently hyperactive sense of smell. 

“who the  _fuck_  are  _you_?!” Red desperately wished he could summon a bone attack. Or. You know. Stand. “if my Boss catches you here, he’ll wear your a-”

“did you come out of that thing?” Papyrus interrupted, nodding to the toppled machine, trying to get the yelling to stop. 

“i don’t see how that’s any-” Red began to roar.

“whoa, down boy.”

Red growled, and Papyrus couldn’t stop a smirk from forming, which did not help matters.

“look,” raising one hand in a gesture of peace and using the other to pull himself up by the table against the wall, “i’m just sayin’.. if you came out of that..” he trailed off. Unlike Red, Papyrus knew exactly what that device was for and was starting to realize what must have happened. But he was having a difficult time expressing that over the cacophony of utter bullshit right now.

“you must be sans, right?”

Seriously, who the fuck did this guy think he was. No one called Red by his given name. That would imply he was a person. He wasn’t sure anyone actually knew his name and wouldn’t be shocked if Boss had forgotten it altogether. Hearing it made him angry in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

He unsteadily got to his feet, not wanting to allow the foreign skeleton to tower over him more than he already did. “listen  _buddy_ , I don’t know what you’re playing at, but-”

And that was as far as he got. The magic tenuously holding him together gave out, and he lost consciousness.

Some small part of Papyrus wished he could just leave, lock the door behind him, and pretend like this room never existed. Like he should have done years ago. Instead, he trudged over to his bro’s copy and gathered the exhausted skeleton into his arms. 

He let out a long sigh, briefly considered the stairs, and decided that would take marginally more effort than transporting directly to the couch.


	3. What Do I Call You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have to re-edit this. My brain is not cooperating with the whole "being able to focus" nonsense.

Mind still reeling and lightheaded from the two-person jump to the living room, Papyrus sat still cradling Other Sans, studying his familiar yet foreign features. He knew well the theory behind multiverses. But it was a whole different game confronting it in the face like this. 

 

The comparison between his bro and this monster were growing thinner by the second. His brother was a small but spry, bright eyed, relentless ball of hope and good will. This Sans must be what humans thought of when they thought of skeleton monsters. Sharp jagged angles, hard bones, and dark sockets. Lacking substance in a way that can’t help but remind someone of their own mortality. Even passed out, his eyes held indentions under them, almost like.. bone wrinkles?

 

_Huh, who knew_.

Holding him like this, he felt lighter than he remembered his own Sans being the last time he picked him up, whenever that was.

 

_One thing at a time_. 

His new houseguest was in obvious need of medical attention.

 

As far as he knew, no one had ever _survived_ transuniversal travel. There was absolutely no telling what side effects could arise. At first glance, Sans 2.0 appeared to not be in any immediate danger of dusting.

He didn’t have a scratch on him.

At least, no _new_ scratches.

His skull was pretty dinged up in a way that didn’t help Papyrus’ fluctuating nausea.

Repositioning the skeleton in his arms, he took another, longer look at the crack that had given him such a fright when he first saw it. It wasn’t a danger, but its presence didn’t sit well with Papyrus. But the underground could be dangerous. That crack could have resulted from anything, right? He probably fell somewhere. 

 

If the barely effective force he used against Papyrus earlier was any indicator, the skeleton was suffering magical exhaustion, but not complete depletion. His soul would need to be inspected to be sure. Papyrus briefly considered calling a doctor, but, even if a doctor believed him, what doctor would know what to look for or even deal with temporal shenanigan inflicted damage.

Then again, he didn’t really know what to look for either.

 

He could call Undyne.. She, at least, knew of his “hobbies” and wouldn’t think he had lost his mind. But he should probably give the guy a once over before asking her to come all the way from Waterfall.

 

Papyrus knew some intermediate healing magic, nothing fancy, but he felt he could keep Sans-the-II alive. What had him hesitating was, while unconscious, the small skeleton couldn’t conjure his soul. Papyrus would have to forcibly bring the soul into corporeality. Sure medical professionals did that sort of thing all the time, but they were _medical professionals_. Papyrus had a gut feeling his brother’s clone would not take too kindly to this sort of invasion. But what choice did he have?

 

Needing another boost before continuing further, Papyrus carefully stood, keeping the Not-Sans close to his chest, turned around, gently laid him supine against the couch, and shuffled into the kitchen. He grabbed a slice of bread from the cabinet, not bothering to toast it, and swallowed it nearly whole. After pouring himself another cup of coffee, he washed his hands. Souls couldn’t really get _infected_ , not like that, but it couldn’t hurt. Not that it really would make up for violating the guy like this, but he was going to try his damnedest to treat his soul with respect.

 

He brought his coffee back into the living room, set it on the table, and knelt back down beside the body. He pulled a blanket from a basket beside the couch and wrapped the skeleton’s lower half in it before attempting to peel off the puffy black jacket.

Underneath, Papyrus found a patchwork of scars across his arms.

They weren’t uniform enough to be.. Maybe.. Maybe in his universe, Edgy Sans was a brawler like Alphys? He tossed the jacket aside.

 

With the skeleton’s bulky jacket missing, something caught the light. Papyrus tilted his jaw up to find the source of the shine.

It was a… dog collar?

Okay..

Obviously this guy had an odd sense of style.

Then he caught sight of the spikes that decorated the circumference.. _pointing inward_. The tips were rounded and dull, but the leather was pulled taut and tight enough that he couldn’t imagine it was actually comfortable. In the middle was a golden square tag. Papyrus leaned down to read it and, for what must have been the 500 th time today, thought he was going to be sick..

 

**Property of**

**Papyrus**

**Captain of the**

**Royal Guard**

 

His mind spun against the reality that could have resulted in a skeleton brother wearing something like this.

And seeing _his own name_ engraved there..

His body reacted before his mind could, phalanges swiftly unclasping the abominable object. Once he had it in his hands, however, he was unsure what to do with it?

 

_Under the couch? Under the couch._

He threw it under the couch and out of sight.

 

He turned his attention back to Scary Sans’ neck. There were no fresh wounds but, unsurprisingly, a webbing of old scars. Papyrus bit down the bile that rose in the back of his throat and tried to refocus on the matter at hand.

 

He pulled at the crimson t-shirt, bunching it under the skeleton’s arms.

_More scars.._

If he didn’t know better, he might have thought the skeleton’s bones were just textured like that. His whole body looked like a topographical map.

There was hardly a bone that hadn’t been broken. And, judging by the thickness of the scarring, some of the breaks had occurred multiple times in the same spot.

 

The image of Pap’s own brother sporting scars like these tried to waft through his consciousness, but he forced it back down.

 

Moving to hold his hands over the smaller’s sternum, feeling for the gravity of a nearby soul and began to gently will it out. With a ting it flickered into existence. _Huh._ It wasn’t as bad as he was expecting. It was still murky and gnarled.

But a soft light shone from it in a color that reminded him of velvet and wine.

In a healthier soul, it would have been very rich and warm.

 

Papyrus quickly checked his health, 0.75/1 HP ( _1 HP just like his Sans_ ), watching for a moment to ensure it remained stable, and let the soul dissipate. Not great, but not falling. Shirt pulled back down and covered with another blanket, Papyrus left his charge to rest, walked back into the kitchen, and sipped on now cold coffee.

 

Papyrus…. Had no clue what to do. And he had no idea how this guy would react when he regained consciousness. He had been pretty hostile in the basement. It could have been a side effect of travel and disorientation. Or it could just be his personality. Dude had obviously seen some shit.

But. Papyrus had also seen some shit in the numerous resets he endured.

What… What if he just killed someone?

Most monsters don’t have the will to be cruel, but most monsters also don’t put a _fucking collar on their own brothers_. _Ugh_.

 

He patted the sides of his shorts praying he had at least one cigarette left, but instead, found an unopened pack. Score One for drunk him having zero impulse control.

 

He needed to call Undyne.


	4. What Do You Want from Me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really did not want to take this long to upload the next chapter and I'm so sorry! Between graduation, surgery, recovery, and just plain writer's block, it's been slow going. But, good news is, I now have a direction for this story, let's see if we get there.  
> Also, sorry about the screwy format. I can't fucking figure out how to work this website 
> 
> I really appreciate every comment I've received, even if I haven't responded yet. I probably haven't responded because I don't know how to express a reaction other than "aohiueaikjgwueitgsomeoneleft meacomment" yet. Even if it's something you don't like, I'm probably going to be excited you took time to tell me. 
> 
> Last thing, I wish to God I could animate, cause I want HoneyMustard set to From Eden. Seriously, go listen to it. Here,  
> https://youtu.be/0cwGdN2ajgM  
> I can't explain why all of Hozier reminds me of this 'ship, it just does. To Be Alone is another good one.

_Red was not going to beg._  
_He for damn sure was not going to cry, gritting his teeth until they threatened to fracture._  
_He was bound to a tree._  
_Arms held behind him, rope woven through the bones._  
_Ribs scraped against bark to the rhythmic motion of their bodies._  
_Marrow dripped down his jaw and sizzled as a tongue of lava lapped it up._  
_There were worse pains._

  _Crackling laughter echoed around him._  
_It sounded like the forest was burning down._  
_He kept his sockets shut._  
_The smell of burning bone was overwhelming._  
_He was not going to cry._

_\--_

It was dark out when Red finally woke up, cold sweat thick on his bones. The only light in the room came from his sockets, pulsing with a dull ache in his soul. The afterimages of his nightmare, mild as it was, quickly faded as he became increasingly woozy.  
If he didn’t know better, he’d say he woke up drunk.

.. _huh_. Maybe he had? Did he mixed tequila in his mustard again? He thought he learned his lesson last time.  
It didn’t feel like he gargled with broken glass and acid, so maybe not.  
Then what in the hell _had_ happened?

From what he could tell in the dim glow, he was on a couch, in a living room. _His_ living room. But. Not.  

For one thing, he was pretty sure he and Boss had never owned a coffee table. Tables didn’t last long in their house. They were just expensive kindling.

There were no cracks in the walls, nothing was broken. There appeared to be figurines littering the mantel above the tv, but it was too dark to make them out.

A collection of photographs hung on the wall above him, two skeletons, one tall and one short. They looked like.. like Boss and him. Eerily so.

Red pulled himself up to get a better look at a low hanging photo. Something else struck him about the tall skeleton… Red had seen that smug son of a bitch before… in the workshop.  
It finally hit him, the incident with the Machine, and _that_ skeleton being a shitheel.

In their first confrontation, he hadn’t realized just how much this monster looked like Boss. only too soft, too… pretty.  
Boss, himself, looked like the living embodiment of road rash.

Of course, at the time, that stupid skeleton had been on all fours vomiting like a dog.  
That had been pretty funny. Or would have if Red hadn’t _also_ been on all fours preparing to embrace death. 

So..  
Red goes for a joy ride in a hellish, nightmare box.  
Said box ejects him to the mercy of some jackass.  
Red valiantly holds his ground against the intruder but is mowed down.  
And now?  
Has he been snoozing on a couch belonging to that same breaking and entering cheap imitation?

That, or he’s finally lost it. The RESETs have driven him over the edge.  
That made much more sense. It had been bound to happen one day.  
What _did_ he drink last night?

Well, delusion or no, while he was here and no one seemed to be at his throat, might as well see if there was anything worth eating around.

He slowly stood. The world was still tilting just a smidge.

His eyes still burned with magic, illuminating his way to the kitchen. Probably should be concerned about that. Not really in control of it at all.  
But, no pain, no problem, eh?

The fridge wasn’t exactly filled to the brim, but at least the condiment door was stocked.  
Some monster in this house knew how to live.

He grabbed the bottle of his spicy yellow favorite, and the muffin (from a box of six) that felt the least stale or spidery.  
Two digits bore into the middle of the muffin, creating a pocket which he filled with mustard. He had just managed to sink his teeth into the concoction when he heard movement to the left of him.

Splayed on the ground, under a blanket, being blinded by the open fridge, was his host. Or captor. It didn’t really make a difference.

“hey… you’re awake.. standing, even,” Papyrus groggily called out.

He must have been blocked from view earlier by the coffee table. Red hadn’t thought to check for any creeps sleeping on the ground, cause.. who would?

He let the fridge shut, and just sort of stood there chewing while Papyrus got to his feet and flipped a light switch.

Now that he caught the resemblance, he couldn’t unsee it.                            

This copy of his brother, even slouched and droopy-eyed, made Red tense up, despite himself.

It occurred to Red that he was standing in a kitchen that was not his own, holding food that was not his own.  
Food that was _stolen_ from a monster Red was currently having trouble convincing himself wasn’t Boss in disguise.  
That would be a pretty elaborate way to fuck with him.  
Boss would have to be pretty damn bored.  

Red hoped his shaking hands weren’t obvious.

Yawning, Papyrus shuffled over and plopped down on the couch, head tilted back. He peeked one eye open at Red long enough to say, “you can bring your snacks in here, I won’t tell my bro.” 

It also occurred to Red he had no idea why he was still alive. This guy had every opportunity to kill him.  
Most monsters would have already been making Red-dust-angels.

His appetite had vanished, but he did what he was told. He placed the stolen goods on the coffee table, wiping his hands on his shorts as he sat down.

The two of them sat uncomfortably straight but neither looked directly at each other. After a moment, the thrum of magic in Red’s skull beat fast with nervousness, making his head spin again, much worse than earlier.

“mnph..” He doubled over rubbing his temples.

“whoa, take it easy there.” Red stiffened under a touch to his shoulder. “you’ve had a pretty rough night. your magic was crazy low. we, uh.. we had to force some into you.”

Papyrus grimaced, uncomfortable with what had occurred earlier, and removed his hand when the smaller skeleton turned, head still in hand to glare at him.

“you _what?”_ Red questioned, less concerned with the invasion, and more concerned with the ‘we’.

“i’m really sorry.. we didn’t know when you’d wake up or if you would.. doc said you’d be sore and your magic might be.. unpredictable.” Papyrus pulled out his pack of smokes and offered one in a gesture of peace.

It had actually been Papyrus’ magic they used for the transfusion. So he was especially tuned to the emotions radiating from Red. Undyne said that particular side effect should fade with the others as the excess magic burned out.

He’d been awake all night, only able to imagine the contents of the dreams he sensed, barely keeping himself from chain-smoking. He nearly dozed off right as Red awoke, but the light from the fridge put an end to that.

Between that and the stress he now felt from both of them, he was itching for relief.

Unsurprisingly, Red was too. He’d barely hesitated before pulling out a cig and allowing Papyrus to light it. After a couple of long draws, he managed to croak out, “doc?”  
“huh?”  
“you said ‘doc’.”  
“oh.. yeah. undyne. figured she’d be the best to help. better than me at healin’,” Papyrus braced for a reaction, but not expecting the one he got.

Red nearly choked on smoke, “what in the name of asgore would that blood-starved bitch know about healing?!” He somewhat frantically pulled at his shirt to check for any sign of new damage.  

Papyrus could only blink, barely able to stifle a laugh at the dumbfounded look he was receiving. The Undyne he knew was far from what could be called ‘blood-starved’. That fish was _thirsty_ , a term from the internet she showed him once, but not for blood.

“she’s the royal scientist…” he said once he could trust his voice again.  
“since when?”  
“since ever.. in this reality at least.”

What the fuck was that supposed to mean. Know what? Red didn’t even care.

“you got in that machine.. without knowing where you were going?”  
“where’d I go?  
_oh boy._   “...a different timeline. that machine, it.. it brought you do a different timeline… you really didn’t know?”

Red just shook his head. Sure. Why not. The universe must be bored of watching him die, decided to mix things up. Besides, that _would_ explain the skeleton in front of him and the obnoxiously colored one in the photographs that Red didn’t want to admit bore a passing resemblance to him.

But he'd heard enough. No monster helped another without wanting something in return. And Red wasn’t going to stick around to find out what that was.  
Time to go.

 “welp. thanks for the nap, pal. i’ll just see myself out,” and he was gone, burned out cigarette dropping to the couch cushion.

Papyrus groaned and finished off his smoke before following. There was about to be one upset skelly. On this side, the machine had not been properly secured to the ground. The vibrations of the transfer toppled it over as soon as Red arrived.  

Red whipped his head around at the _pop_ signalling Papyrus’ appearance. He hadn’t expected Boss’ copy to materialize behind him, Boss certainly didn’t have the ability to use shortcuts. But he would know that _pop_ anywhere.

“s’pose this explains why you didn’t send me right back,” Red turned back to the wreckage and knelt down to inspect a piece that had broken off.

“that, and you probably would have dusted on the return trip.”

Again with the acting concerned over Red. Whatever he wanted, it wasn’t going to be good. His own counterpart was nowhere to be seen. Maybe Pretty Boss broke his toy and wanted a new one. Or maybe he just wanted all the toys. 

“it was like this when I found you here.. I didn’t know it could even turn on. I was certain it was broken, like, completely broken..”

Papyrus nudged a hunk of metal with his foot.

“we can try to fix it..” he offered, at a loss for anything else to say or do. Papyrus didn’t have an argument for him to stay. He knew nothing about him. All he had were his suspicions. And a near constant stream of negative emotion.

Red couldn’t just not go back. He was quite sure he couldn’t handle whatever Boss would do to him when he found him here and not even trying to get home. He had no idea how Boss could even get here, but he just knew he’d be found.

Besides, he didn’t know this Papyrus. He didn’t know what he wanted, what he was capable of. Back home, he knew what to expect. Sure, Boss had a temper, but Red knew the rules.

“sans?” The silence had begun to be unnerving.  
“don’t call me that,” Red tried his best to say neutrally.  
“...what?”  
“ ‘s not my name. don’t call me that.”  
Papyrus was at a loss.  
“okay… then what do i call you?”  
Red picked himself up from the ground.  
“call me red.”  
Papyrus scratched at the back of his head. At least that would make it easy to keep the two Sanses straight.  
“good to meet ya, red.”

Pulling another from his pack, Pap nodded to the door at the top of the stairs, “you’re welcome to stay, long as ya need. my bro's away trainin', but i'm sure he'd offer you his bed even if he weren't,”

With a nod, Red wordlessly turned to climb up. He didn’t get this whole saccharine schtick, but he knew how to obey, even if it sounded optional.

He just had to stay alive long enough to get out of here. He needed to make himself useful (or at least entertaining) and fast. Luckily, he did have some experience in that area.

 


End file.
